


I Need Some Air

by woollen_pharaohs



Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Angst, Complicated Relationships, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Profanity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 09:17:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1505009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woollen_pharaohs/pseuds/woollen_pharaohs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry feels light headed, like his knees could give way and he grips the staircase banister. Harry's always been weak like that, could never be immune to Peter's words, his construction of sentences strung in beautiful poetry.</p><p>An exploration of Harry and Peter's relationship before and during the second film. Directly refers to scenes in The Amazing Spiderman 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Need Some Air

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this fic because I was interested in the way that Peter pushes people away in the guise of 'protecting' them and I wanted to explore that in his friendship/relationship with Harry. Basically I think Peter's a dick when it comes to relationships, the way he treats Gwen and well, even though she knows his big secret he's still a dick to her. Anyway, I hope you like my take.

  **Present.**

Harry sits at the head of the glass table, back straight, shoulders square, a sly grin on his face. His board of department heads line either side of the table, once with cocky poses, now heads hung low, eyes darting down, won't meet him in the eye. Felicia sits poised undeterred by the forced silence. Harry grins at the thought that these minions thought they could control him, Harry Osborn, of all people. That they thought that he, having freshly graduated from college early, could be tricked, played for the twenty year old he is. Oh boy, is he going to have fun with these old mates.

Harry's assistant taps him on the shoulder, whispers something in his ear. The two words that shatter his carefully crafted glass skin, a name that grinds him into sand.

 _Peter Parker_.

 

 

  **Past.**

Harry was there for Peter when his friend's parents disappeared. They were just kids. Harry was asked over a lot, to keep a lonely child company. They had lots of sleepovers, chatted into the night about scientific theories regular ten year olds couldn't fathom. They'd remained friends even when Harry's father shipped him off to boarding school. Harry didn't think much of it at first, he knew he'd miss Peter, but he'd make new friends, make new adventures, and be able to keep up with the old.

They exchanged emails once every month, occasionally every fortnight, just casual stuff, what cool things they'd learnt at school, what assignment they were working on. Harry didn't go home during the holidays anymore which made him an outcast, only the most pitiful kids stayed at the school during holidays. In all honesty, Harry hadn't made any friends, even when he did attempt visiting home. He began to realize, as he grew older, that his Father didn't want him around, that boarding school was to keep the nuisance at bay, to ignore the unwanted, the disliked. And without necessarily desiring it, he had pigeon-holed himself in the friendless category. Not that he minded exactly, he still conversed with Peter via email every so often. That was enough social interaction for him, it left him more time to work on his projects.

Two years passed and the emailing slowed down, became every two months, or when either of them remembered. Harry didn't think much of it, the distance kept them apart, costly too. Not that Harry ever had an issue with money, but Peter would never accept help. He would feel too guilty using Harry's money to travel to visit him. As for Harry visiting Peter, well, it's a little embarrassing, he's afraid of public transport. Being a loner for so much of your life really makes you afraid of crowds. Except, it's not so much that Harry fears crowds, it's that he's disgusted by them. Closely packed buses or trains, people practically standing on top of each other, skin to skin, inescapable body odour… Harry's too rich to put up with that. So he doesn't see his only friend, and that friend becomes more and more distant, and Harry becomes more and more focused on school and graduating as soon as possible.

Except Peter will never be able to fall out of his life. He'll reappear like nothing ever changed, like no time had passed at all and expect to fall back into old ways. And when it comes to Peter Parker, it usually works.

 

Harry sits at his desk, scribbling in his notebook. His roommate Suzuki should be back soon. Suzuki would get just as much bullying from his schoolmates just for his name if he wasn't an A grade soccer player. Too bad Harry's schoolmates don't have the same respect for scientific pursuit as they do sports.

There's a timid knock on Harry's door but he thinks nothing of it. It's a custom at the boarding school to knock before entering anyone's room. Harry gets back to his homework but the knock repeats, and he closes his notebook, confused. Suzuki's friends never visit, it's always Suzuki visiting them. Suzuki's not too bad in that respect, he doesn't invade Harry's space, except Suzuki doesn't stop people from tormenting him while he's minding his own business around campus.

The knock raps for the third time and Harry leans back on two legs of his chair, calls out, husky, "who is it?"

"Is this Harry Osborn's room?"

Harry swallows sulphur, it burns his insides but sends chills over his skin. His heart drums in his chest as he gets up, wooden chair scraping up the threads of the carpet. He places his hand on the door knob, pulls the door open.

"Peter?" Harry chokes.

Harry stands shocked in the doorway, hand going white gripping the door. Peter looks horrible. His hair is ragged, his clothes unsettled, his lip busted.

Peter grins, "man, you're voice has cracked huh, two years, I'll be there too,"

Harry doesn't know what to say, the whole thing is completely unexpected. It's been two years since he's seen Peter in the flesh, he's grown.

"They were chasing me see, wanted to beat me up, or mug me or maybe they were just after the same train as me," Peter turns his head side to side as he talks, abashed, "well, they caught me by my camera strap and it snapped... My camera fell on the tracks, train ran straight over it. And well, only choice I had was to get on a train, made me catch the wrong one, but maybe it was the right one 'cause it got me here didn't it?"

Peter sags against the door frame, uses the tip of his joggers to scratch his ankle.

"Well, can I sit down? I'm dead on my feet," Peter asks.

And then he does it. Has his eyes downcast, then lifts them up, looks directly into Harry's eyes and he's captured. The magnum look. Trademarked to Peter Parker. First use, the day after his parents disappeared and he asked Harry over, how could anyone say no?

Peter slumps down at Harry's desk, hangs his head back, arms and legs splayed like he's been shot. Harry takes his drink bottle from his bedside table and gives it to Peter, then sits down on his bed. He watches Peter for a while, watches as he sculls the water, breathing normalises, colour draws back to his skin. Peter's a ghost and Harry's a stone gargoyle, weighing down on his bed.

When Peter's feeling better, he sits up, begins going through Harry's notes. Usually he'd be defensive, usually people ask too many questions that don't warrant answers, but Peter's the smartest guy he knows, if Harry can't figure something out, Peter's gonna be able to help him out.

Peter sets Harry's notebook down dramatically and throws his hands to his forehead, "ugh my mind is fried, I can't focus,"

Harry says nothing, fidgets nervously.

Peter drags his palms down his cheeks, says "dude don't you have any posters to put up? There's like zero decoration."

"The rules say you can't put blu tack on the wall," Harry says simply.

Peter nods to Suzuki's side of the room, "this guy's doing it. Come on, you've gotta have your idols on your wall, let 'em inspire you every morning. I got this great one of Einstein sticking his tongue out, it's crazy," Peter says, mimicking the face.

"Sounds inspirational," Harry laughs.

The sound is raw and alien, only Peter can make him laugh like this.

Peter kicks his feet up on the edge of Harry's desk, folds his arms behind his head, "I forget whose turn it is to email,"

"Me too,"

Peter sighs, "I should visit more often, it's just the trains you know, the schedule's so shitty having to catch three trains and all. The first one's fine, but if the second one's late you gotta wait around forty minutes for the third."

Harry shrugs, "sounds time consuming,"

"Yeah, but well you know, I came here by pure accident. Those bullies, they made me catch the wrong train. Hey well, what's the time, I better get out of your hair," Peter says, standing up quickly.

Harry stands up too, accidentally kicks his foot against his bedside table, "wait, you can stay,"

"Are you sure?" Peter says, hand curving around the corner of Harry's desk, foot scratching his ankle again.

"Yes I… I miss you."

Peter's face lights up, a side splitting grin spreading across his face. He lurches toward Harry and slings an arm around his shoulders, rubs Harry's upper arm, "oh man, here I was thinking I was intruding. You don't mind, you really don't mind? I'll stay, we'll hang out, like old times huh?" Peter moves to Harry's desk and picks up his notebook, "hey well I was looking at your notes and I think I got a solution to your problem…"

Harry matches Peter's grin, "show me what you've got."

 

 

**Present.**

With a push of a button the elevator creaks to a stop, stuck halfway between floors, floor 7 and a half. His fingers hover over the ground floor button, they hover or they shake, is it intentional? An image of his Father in bed, mountainous blankets covering him, his arms rested on top, either side of his body, weighing down the sheets. His skin green and bulbous, the closer Harry looks, the more it looks like the pea soup he used to get at boarding school, bubbling at the surface, he can't smell it but he knows it would smell disgusting. And on his deathbed, his father strings out a manipulative speech, degradation and demoralization followed by praise and hope, spoken from a saggy frog-like face. His Father reached out to Harry, drops a thumb drive into his hands and his hands shake, his whole body shakes and trembles from the sight of his Father like this, from the disease that killed his Father and will kill him.

Harry holds back the sickness in his throat, feels the itch on his neck. The words his assistant spoke ring in his ears, _Peter Parker_. Harry used to think the way Peter showed up in his life again, able to fall back into the rhythm of his being, align paths again, it's what people say good friends do right? No matter how much time has passed, when you meet good friends again, you connect. Time and time again you connect like nothing ever changed because that kind of friendship can last through time. So they say anyway.

Harry's always had it tough with people cutting him out of their lives. It's been four years, but when it comes to Peter Parker, well, maybe he's changed?

 

 

  **Past.**

They never picked up the email thing again, it seemed like a simple thing to do but they were both busy people. Instead, Peter would show up some days, most often weekends, rarely weekdays. In the holidays, Peter stayed some nights, slept in Suzuki's bed. He would never really let Harry know when he's coming, just sort of show up, knock sheepishly on Harry's door, wander in with a bag full of text books and snacks. Harry was never doing anything important enough to warrant notification of his arrival anyway.

It's Harry's eighteenth birthday and in all honesty, he's not expecting anything from anyone. The best birthday gift he could possibly get is that it's school holidays, almost everyone goes home for that, which means he won't be bothered by anyone when he stays at the school. Plus, his birthday marks the last year he has to spend at school and god is he looking forward to living alone. Maybe he won't even tell his Father where he's going. In the four years he's been at boarding school his Father has never once contacted him, not for his birthday, not for any reason at all. Sure he gets money in his bank account every week but he's pretty sure it's an automated allocation, he can't imagine his Father sitting at a computer consciously transferring money into his son's account. So it's a huge surprise when the caretaker drops off a parcel at his door around 4pm, mumbles something angrily about not being a postman, that delivering student's mail is not part of his job description. Harry places the parcel on his desk, carefully unseals the packaging. He lifts off the paper to reveal a bottle of scotch and a hand written card. All he can do is stare at it for the first few minutes, the thought that it's gotta be some kind of joke runs through his mind.

Harry takes a quick look at the note, signed by Norman Osborn. He can't even be sure if it's actually his Father's writing because for fuck's sake, he can't even remember. The letter, one sentence long, is so fucking formal yet stilted that he crumples the card up and strangles it in his grip. The one thing he gets from his Father is probably not even from him, his secretary probably sent this, his Father probably isn't even aware it's his birthday. And moreover, they sent him _scotch_ like he's meant to be twenty one. Or is it meant to be a gesture of manhood, because that's pretty rich coming from a man who won't even give his son the time of day.

Harry's nose flares, eyes red and sore and he takes the bottle of scotch in his hand and chucks it at the wall. The glass shatters and the alcohol splatters across the plaster. And like his guardian angel, if Harry ever believed in fate, Peter shows up in his doorway.

"Hey man, why'd you go waste a good bottle of alcohol?" Peter says, trying to be cheery.

Harry throws his head in his hands, he can't keep the tears from coming, "my Father… He doesn't, he doesn't know how old I even am."

Peter runs around to the desk, uses his sleeve to push the broken bits of glass into Harry's paper bin.

Through gritted teeth, Harry grates, "he doesn't even know I _exist_ ,"

Peter hovers anxiously, then pulls out a poster rolled up from his backpack, "here, I got you something,"

Harry's not one to gloat, people often conflate richness with pretentiousness, but Harry's as modest as Osborn's get. He's never once talked about his birthday coming up with Peter. He guesses friends just know. Harry rubs fists into his eyes, as if punching them would make the tears stop. It doesn’t really work so he just lets them run, takes the poster from Peter's outstretched arms. He unrolls the poster to reveal a large picture of Albert Einstein staring with his tongue stuck out. Harry chuckles, holds it up in front of him.

"You like it?" Peter asks, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder.

Harry looks at the poster, then at Peter's tight face. Only a handful of people have ever looked at him like that before, people like the nurses at school, the teachers on the grounds when he's getting hounded by the jocks, the girls at prom practice that the school makes them go to, even though Harry never goes to the real thing. It's a look of genuine concern, and from strangers it's shameful, it makes Harry disgusted to be alive. But when it's from Peter, his friend, his only friend, he feels, well, it feels fine, it feels good.

Harry sets the poster down on his desk, ignores it as it instantly rolls back into a cylinder, and he stands up, embraces his friend.

He could do this for days, just hug him. It's socially inappropriate, he knows, but he hears people saying all the time, a kind of flirting or compliment, Harry never understood, that they could hug people endlessly. And doing it now with Peter, he totally understands. There's some kind of chemical thing about it, it calms him. Then again, Peter's always had that affect on him, just being in his presence, there's an air of carefree joy, of adventure and excitement and easy going fun. Peter is the embodiment of what's missing in Harry's life.

He's never hugged anyone for this long, maybe it's too long, maybe it's too much for Peter and he's just too polite to say anything about it. So Harry lets go, breaks away from the warmth, looks down at the ground and says, "I don't have any blu tack."

Peter smiles awkwardly and turns his head side to side as he speaks, gestures excessively with his hands, "maybe we can borrow some from Suzuki Swift over there, but hey look, eighteen man, it's a big birthday, and well," Peter places his hands on Harry's shoulder, pushes him down on Harry's bed, "I wanna do something for you, like a birthday present or whatever."

"You already got me the poster," Harry says confused, as Peter kneels down in front of him.

"Yeah but like, another one, for _best friends_ ," Peter says.

Peter's tall for his age, he's skinny too, which disguises his age. He wedges himself between Harry's legs, and before Harry knows what's going on, Peter cranes his neck to reach Harry and kisses him. Harry's eyes flutter shut and he thinks he must be dreaming. Their mouths move together, sloppy, virgin kisses, and when Peter pulls back, Harry's left panting, lips wet with Peter.

"That's it?" Harry asks, his voice cracking high like he's fourteen again. The question sounds mean but it's not what he intended at all and whoever said they could hug for eternity has never tried kissing.

Peter shakes his head and presses his lips against Harry's again, as thirsty as Harry. He drags his fingers over Harry's back muscles takes his hands down to Harry's waistband and flicks his fingers beneath Harry's shirt, explores the landscape of Harry's stomach.

Harry moans and geez, it's not like he's ever jacked off before but god this is so much better, and god is the door still open? Peter moves a hand down to Harry's clothed cock, massages it through his slacks and with his other hand, he traces the form of Harry's ear, tickles the sensitive skin behind and circles back around again.

Peter breaks away from Harry's mouth and whispers in his ear, "take your pants off,"

Anticipation builds in Harry's stomach, blood rushing to his cock. Harry's seen this in pornos. He didn't think any girl would be interested in him, and he always knew when he was of age he could pay to get it done to him, but he'd never suspect Peter would do this for him.

"Are you sure you wanna do this?" Harry says as he unbuttons his slacks.

Peter nods vigorously, says with a wry smile, "my neck's sore anyway,"

Peter helps tug Harry's form fitting slacks off and throws them aside. No hesitation, he engulfs Harry's cock in his mouth. Harry elicits an animalistic moan and oh god, he really hopes the caretaker doesn't decide to check up on him anytime soon. He rakes his hands through Peter's messy hair, helps guide Peter into doing what works for him. Peter's no pro, but it's not like Harry's ever had a blow job done on him anyway, he can't really complain.

Peter's thumbs graze the sensitive skin around Harry's cock, causing Harry to shudder. Peter tries to say something around Harry's cock but it's incoherent mumbling and Peter seems to laugh at himself, giving a rippling sucking effect over Harry's cock. It's probably not long enough for a regular person, Harry's weak that way, but then again, it's his first time and it's _Peter fucking Parker_ doing it to him for his birthday, too many things too great and Harry falls forward, gripping Peter's shoulders and white out.

Peter makes a surprised noise, Harry probably should have let him know he was coming, couldn't really approximate it, it just happened, like Peter showing up at his door. Harry falls back on his bed, catches his breath. Somewhere below, Peter rifles around for a box of tissues, drowns out his mouth with Harry's drink bottle. Then he crawls on top of Harry, lips slick, cheeks flushed and Harry doesn't even care when Peter swoops down to kiss him. His friend, his only friend straddling his hips, cock getting hard all over again.

Peter breaks away from Harry's lips, playfully licks Harry's mouth and grins, "happy birthday."

 

 

  **Present.**

Harry feels hot, feverish, hand still shaking over the ground floor button.

A woman speaks over the intercom, "is everything alright Mr. Osborn?"

Harry leans against the glass wall, takes a breath before answering, "yes, I'm fine. Clear the lobby will you, I need to speak to Peter alone."

He tries not to think about anything so he can push the damn button already. The elevator churns into functionality and begins rolling down to the ground floor. He's only got a few seconds to recover to the man who had been, only a few minutes ago, totally in control of the nasty old department heads of his Father's business.

Peter's been absent for four years. You'd think in that time Harry would have been able to build up an immunity to Peter's charms, but when it comes to Peter Harry becomes submissive. It sickens him but he can't avoid it, there's just something about Peter that makes Harry _want_ to let Peter have his way.

 

   **Past.**

It became regular for Peter to fuck him when he made his irregular visits. Whenever Peter ever needed him, he came to Harry. Somehow he knew Suzuki's training schedule, knew the timeframe he had before Suzuki would be back. He never made trouble for Harry, they were always discrete. Looking back, Harry regretted not trying to convince Peter to fuck somewhere different spice it up a bit, not that it wasn't ever spicy with Peter. It's just, if Peter didn't want to do it, he wouldn't do it. There's no convincing otherwise.

Sucking Harry off that first time on Harry's birthday was the first and last time Peter ever did something for him. Not that Harry minded, he wasn't going to force Peter into doing something he didn’t like doing. It's just that, Peter took control, and Harry loved it at the time. He anticipated Peter's visits, began to grow detached from the world, like the world was moving about him in a haze and the only thing that grounded him would be a visit from Peter. Peter would take him and fuck him, and yeah, it hurt the first time because they thought that spit would be good enough lube, but they learnt from that and well, Harry always thought their relationship was pretty balanced. Sure, he never got to fuck Peter but he got to jack him off, he got to suck him off, he got to be thoroughly fucked, so what's the big deal?

Okay, there was one bad thing. The irregularity. If Harry wanted to get onto Peter, _needed_ to get fucked blind and raw and think of nothing else but Peter's cock buried in him, he more often couldn't. Peter would never come for Harry, he would never make the effort to see him, and if Harry offered to make the trip for Peter, he'd refuse profusely. Well, he'd always have a pretty good excuse, but Harry grew tired of that shit. What good is a friend if they only want to connect with you on their terms?

Being unable to easily contact Peter, he felt like some creepy stalker when he tried. Look, sometimes it wasn't even about wanting to fuck it was just about wanting to see Peter, to be with him, to talk with him, God sometimes he just needed some help with homework. But Peter's unreachable when he wants to be.

He called Peter's home one time. He had forbade it. But he was desperate, he hadn't heard from Peter in over two months. For all he knew, Peter could be dead. Aunt May answered and she sounded surprised to hear his voice. She said offhandedly that Peter doesn't talk about him anymore, she thought they'd have some kind of falling out.

"Where is he?" He had asked.

"I think he's out seeing Gwen," she had said, and added, "his girlfriend," when Harry didn't say anything.

 

  **Present.**

Harry exits the elevator and spots Peter making his way to the entrance, about to leave. Harry, standing at the top of the staircase, calls out, voice cracking, "Peter?"

Peter swivels around, a grin forming, and he throws his arms out in welcome, "Harry, it's been like five years,"

"Four," Harry corrects.

Peter's smile droops, he drops his arms.

Harry tries to keep an indifferent face, breathes deeply, speaks evenly, "I'm with people…"

Peter stands at the bottom of the stairs, one hand on the railing, his eyes dart from Harry to the elevator, "I saw on the news… your Father passed. I want to be here for you, like you were here for me when my parents abandoned me,"

Harry feels light headed, like his knees could give way and he grips the staircase banister. Harry's always been weak like that, could never be immune to Peter's words, his construction of sentences strung in beautiful poetry. Peter's like electricity, the static between the shoe crunching down against carpet, his touch, his presence, is a zap, you don't know when it's going to happen so you cringe and it's almost a relief when it finally happens.

Except Harry doesn't resist Peter, he lets it happen, lets Peter taser him, capture him, enslave him, "I suppose I have time,"

Peter's wicked grin returns and he jogs up the stairs, throws his arms around Harry's waist, lets loose thunderbolts by Harry's ears, "I've missed you."

 

At the sea shore Peter talks about hope like it's admirable, that this Spiderman vigilante's some kind of beacon of all things good and just and Harry never pinned Peter as a fanboy. Hope makes Harry into a sickly, needy child, it's what Harry thinks pushed Peter away all those years ago, hope that he'd come back for him, hope that he'd see Peter on the street maybe, hope that Peter might reply to his email once, anything. Hope makes him think of darkness, the dim light of his Father's room, his weak body on his deathbed, the mouldy fat frog that he was, hoping that something his mad scientists cooked up could save him. Even on the verge of death, hope kept him mad, kept him selfish and consumed with the idea of living. The man should have died years ago. He was dead to Harry years ago.

Peter skips stones with absolute precision, he's always been better at things than Harry. Better at school, better at hoping, better at coping, at being good and selfless and just. If ever Peter was a superhero… He asks if there's anyone because Peter doesn't freely talk about it, and he says there's Gwen, that Gwen works for Harry, fancy that. But he says they're complicated, that they're not technically dating. And standing on the rocks by the shore with Peter going on a spiel about how great Spiderman is, it's like listening to a motivational speech spoken by a charismatic leader, it's inspirational. Peter gives Harry hope, makes it good, makes it make sense in his head, makes it seem like hoping for better things is not a cynical view at all.

Harry's chest swells like the formation of a wave in the ocean and he slips an arm around Peter's waist, kisses him. It's passionate, relentless, and Peter doesn't fight back, matches Harry's intensity and it's like a dream. Harry's finally reunited with Peter. Peter Parker.

Peter pulls away, panting, wipes his lips with the back of his hand. "I shouldn't do this, it's…"

"Complicated?" Harry offers, angrily, "you're not dating, so what's the problem?"

Peter skips another stone, it bounces off into the distance, impossible.

"I love her, but I miss you."

 

It's purely accidental that Harry catches Gwen in the elevator. She knows who he is, it’s rude the way she introduces herself to him, like she's looked him up on wikipedia or something. She talks about Peter like she doesn't know about Harry, guess he's not important enough for Peter to talk about. She is smart though, could be pretending, could be trying to be polite. Except that she speaks to Harry like she knows him like a close friend, candid. She confesses, as if Harry wouldn't know, Peter's like electricity, that their relationship is complicated.

Peter loves it complicated.

 

People say, as time goes on, your friends stay the same and you forget the bad shit that happened, because you don't want to remember it, you want to remember the good times you had and live on in that memory. If Harry thinks really hard, he can recall a hint of a memory of the after sex, of Harry lying in Peter's arms, naked, debauched, clammy skin sticking to clammy skin. Peter peels himself off, peels himself out, and he has an existential crisis, why is he here, what's he doing? Harry guesses it happens every time, every time they have sex, it's when the mind returns to normal, after the white outs, when the brain forms from mush to muscle. Harry remembers one time Peter acts like that and it's a turned mirror on every other time, he just forgets them because he wants to.

That's why Peter needs time between each visit, needs time to forget how he hates that end feeling, how he hates leaving Harry there, hates the distance and the closeness Harry desires. Peter says he stays away to protect him. Staying away, staying close, either way it's going to hurt them both. Peter's selfish that way. And Harry came too late. In reality, his Father died too late, didn't catch Peter's attention in time for him to look over Gwen. Harry's selfish that way.

 

Harry asks Peter to get Spiderman's blood for him because he's sick, Peter, _I'm sick I'm dying_ , and Spiderman got bit by those spiders _you know Spiderman, get his blood Peter, his blood can help me_. But Peter's apprehensive, he's always so fucking apprehensive when it comes to what Harry wants, what Harry _needs_.

Peter shows up at Harry's loft wrecked like that first time Peter had shown up unexpectedly. She wants to be friends, Peter says about Gwen as he kisses Peter like it's meant to be sexy, _I think we should be friends_. He says that, about Harry or Gwen, Harry doesn't know. He says that and then he turns Harry over in his bed, fucks him relentlessly, leaves Harry with nail marks in his shoulders, a painful, pleasurable ache in his ass and god he hasn't been fucked like that in four years. Four years.

Peter used to always make sure Harry gets off too, he was selfless, he used to be selfless about that with Harry. But this time he doesn't, he leaves Harry in want and need, sweaty in his clean sheets and Harry can barely rasp about the blood, because christ, he doesn't want to die.

Peter stops by the edge of Harry's bed, shakes his head, repeats, "I think we should be friends,"

He doesn't stop to give Harry one last kiss, one last touch, not an answer, an answer but not the answer Harry needs to hear, and he's gone, did he use the front door?

 

Harry's curled up on the couch, he's been crying and sleeping there for days, for weeks, for years, like the piece of shit he is. He's waiting on Spiderman, on Peter to pull through, but he doubts it too much. The way Peter left him, he can't trust Peter anymore, he should never have. He lights false hope in him and Harry's sickness is going to destroy him before Peter Parker ever can. Peter will just help him along the way to destruction, that's all he's good for, that's the only way Peter can be around Harry. But he won't be around Harry anymore. Peter won't come back, Peter has cut him out of his life like last time, for the last time. So he's not expecting a visit from Spiderman at all and when Spiderman does visit, it doesn't go the way he had hoped, ironically. It doesn't matter that Spiderman wouldn't help him, it doesn't matter that Peter Parker destroyed him, that he won't kiss him or fuck him or touch him or speak to him, won't answer his calls, won't answer fucking emails. It doesn't matter because thankfully, Spiderman isn't Harry's last beacon of hope, because he doesn't want to die for fuck's sake, is that too much to ask? His last glimmer, the one person in the whole world who he needs, who needs _him_ , the reciprocation Harry's always _deserved_ ; Electro.

 


End file.
